


Reciprocity

by Kingshammer



Series: The Lioness and Her Cubs [1]
Category: Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Children, Family, Getting Older, Other, mothers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2017-12-04
Packaged: 2019-02-10 15:51:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12915132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kingshammer/pseuds/Kingshammer
Summary: Alanna and her son Alan partake in an impromptu practice dual.





	Reciprocity

“Get your block up higher!” yelled Alanna over the crash of metal on metal.  She was pacing the training yard, observing a practice dual between two squires.  Alanna was in Corus, unfortunately settled in for winter.  There was snow on the ground which she viewed with disdain, her palms flaring with an ache.  She rubbed them together against the chill, ignoring the pain.

 

The squires – one in Fief Dunlath colors and the other in Fief Pirate’s Swoop colors – increased the speed of their passes at one another, anxious to finish the bout and remove themselves from the critical eye of the Lioness.  Alanna had taken to spending more time around the training yards in recent years while she was in Corus.  Her patience for conservatives was thin at best most days.  She also figured that young girls working toward knighthood might be encouraged by actually seeing lady knights, even if there were only two.

 

“Move your feet Squire Philip!” she barked.  It was too late: the opponent in Dunlath colors pressed forward with a series of hard, downward chopping blows, pushing his fellow squire back.  The other young man tripped over his feet and landed on the hard, cold ground with an undignified _thump._ The other squire placed the tip of his practice sword at his fellow’s throat in the kill position.  Philip let a breath out, exasperated.

 

“I keep telling him that if he’s going to wear our colors, he needs to improve his swordsmanship,” said a deep voice behind Alanna.  She’d have berated herself for not hearing him approach if she hadn’t recognized the voice.

 

“You’ve inherited your father’s ability to walk about like a shadow my son,” she said, turning with a smile to look up into the face of a young knight.  His green eyes, flecked with brown, looked down at her with amusement.

 

“No one walks about like Da, I just give a fair imitation,” he replied, smiling too.

 

“You do it well enough.  Now, is there not even a hug for your old mother,” she remarked.  Alan laughed and stooped slightly to wrap his arms around his mother.  He’d been away on border patrol for many months.  He hadn’t seen the Lioness in over a year.  He felt her arms wrap over his shoulders in a tight, strong squeeze before she released him, looking up at him.

 

Alanna loved all her children.  They were the very best of her and George, of that she had no doubt.  Thom, as powerful as his uncle namesake and far wiser than Alanna hoped to be; Aly, with her quick wit, George’s intelligence and creativity and Alanna’s sheer force of will and determination; and Alan, Sir Knight of the Realm of Tortall, all loyalty and strength and chivalry.  Alanna loved her children and was proud of them.

 

But she shared a special bond with Alan the others did not.  Aly had never shared Alanna’s proclivity toward shield bearing and while she and Thom were sorcerers both, his ability and desire to dive into the powerful, if impractical, mysteries of the arcane was something more scholarly than Alanna ever cared for.  In Alan, she found a kindred spirit. 

 

Alan had been fighting his whole life to escape the expectations and pressures of having famous parents and in doing so, had made a name for himself since a page.  He worked harder, practiced more, and did more than any of his year mates.  He forged a path for himself, much in the way his mother had.  With Alan, Alanna could delve into the particulars of swordplay and archery.  They discussed horseflesh, training, tactics.  There was the shared experience of the Ordeal of Knighthood, something neither could share with other immediate family members.

 

In some ways, Sir Alan of Pirates Swoop was the knight Alanna would’ve been were she been born a boy.

 

“You’re not old Ma. I was surprised when Uncle Gary told me I could find you out here, you hate the cold” he remarked when he released his mother.  The squires stood by at a respectful distance, waiting for the knights’ acknowledgement.

 

“I do, but I hate feeling useless too.  I told haMinch that I’d supervise some squire bouts.  There’re two more around here somewhere, I sent them to run,” she remarked casually.  Alan winced.

 

“What did they do to earn that fate I wonder,” he replied.  Alanna grinned a wolf’s grin.

 

“One snuck in a punch he thought I wouldn’t see and the other retaliated with a kick.  It’s not behavior suitable for the training yard.  They can wait until wrestling practice or burn the energy off somehow,” she replied.  Alan gave her a look of mock surprise.

 

“Like you did fight when you were here,” he remarked.  Alanna rolled her eyes.  The tale of Page Alan and Ralon of Malven was legendary; of course she’d brawled as a page.

 

“Right you are laddy, but you can’t let the instructor see you.  Besides, they’ve too much sword craft to learn before they start adding other things,” she replied.

 

“You see everything mother,” he remarked.

“True again.  But when you invented the tricks, spotting them isn’t difficult,” she replied.  As she spoke, two squires, red faced and winded, bounded up, looking utterly spent.

 

“And now that we’re all here- how about it my son, shall we show them what a real sword fight looks like?” asked Alanna casually.  When Alan was in training, he’d been stiffly formal with his mother.  Now he was a full knight, she treated him more as comrade than parent.  It was a pleasant change if a strange one. 

 

“I suppose, if of course you’re feeling up to it.  I know, well, at your age,” he replied loftily.  His sense of humor was all George.  Alanna pretended to bristle.

 

“Age is wisdom,” she remarked, stepping into the sparring space.  Alan shed a cloak to give him more mobility and followed.  Alan was built tall and strong like his father, his hair a more strawberry blonde than Alanna’s fire red.

 

Rolling her shoulders to loosen them, Alanna surveyed her son quickly.  With any luck, he would surpass her in skill soon if he hadn’t already.  They’d practiced at swords since he was old enough to hold one.  Alanna took fierce pride in his skill.  Her advantage over him now lay in familiarity with the tool that had been an extension of her own body for around four decades.

 

They drew swords, and adopted the guard position. Alan’s expression had turned serious.  Others might balk at dueling the Lioness; this was his first teacher, the one who knew him best.  There would be no mercy.  It was her reputation as his mother than as King’s Champion that he guarded against.

 

Alanna opened with a downward swing that Alan caught easily. The ice broken, the pair moved.  Alanna stayed light on her feet, moving methodically.  She varied her strikes, working on staying on the offensive.  Alan saw her plan, and moved against it, forcing his mother to defend.

 

A few minutes passed, neither giving up ground.  Alanna was feeling her age in her joints.  Alan’s body had not yet endured the abuse hers had.  She was still faster, and now she employed that.  She deflected a side swipe and quickly moved past Alan, to his blind side.  A lesser swordsman would’ve been finished then, but Alan was fast too.  He turned, catching his mother’s intended blow and completing the turn.  Alan was trying to get properly turned around.  Alanna saw this as her chance.

 

She swept her sword up and began a complicated pattern of high, middle, and low strikes.  Alan met the strikes but only just keeping up.  He took a large step back, using his leg length to his advantage and lunged back in.  Alanna saw the blow coming.  Rather than try and meet it with her sword – she knew Alan was stronger – she dropped to a knee and bowed her head, eyes on Alan.

 

Alan’s eyes widened as he simply missed, his sword passing over her.  He’d been anticipating her to block and now his strength and momentum pulled him away from Alanna, opening up his back.  In his heart, he knew it was all over then.  And it was.  Quick as lightning, she sprung up, using her left hand to block his back swing, bringing the flat of her own blade to ghost just near the side of Alan’s face.  He bowed his face with a smile, gently surrendering.

 

Applause rang out through the practice yard.  Unbeknownst to Alan or Alanna, one of the squires sprinted to the indoor practice yards and alerted loudly to the pages that the Lioness and her son were dueling.

 

After sheathing swords, they grasped each other’s forearms.

 

“You’re still the best Ma,” said Alan ruefully.

 

“I’ve just collected more tricks than you have.  I train with our Yamani friends. It’s amazing what you can pick up at my age,” she replied.  Alan considered his mother.  Her violet eyes blazed with pride.  She had more lines around her mouth and eyes.  Her hair, once so red, was streaked with gray.  She exuded strength and stability.  He was proud of her, he realized.  Not in an awed, fascinated way, the way their onlookers were.  He was simply struck that the same woman capable of defeating a younger, stronger opponent and represent their king was also the same woman who held him when he cried.  She soothed his nightmares as a child, protected him, showed him to the path he’d wanted to take.  She built sandcastles and told stories of far off places, fueling his sense of wonder.  He hugged her tightly and let her go.

 

“Let’s go let your fans admire you,” he said with a smile.

 

“They’re your fans too.  You’re good for them Alan,” she said.

 

“So are you Ma.”

**Author's Note:**

> I think Alanna is a fascinating character. Of anyone in Tortall, I think we see her the most at various stages of life and the idea of an older Alanna passing the proverbial baton to the next generation is a compelling one. Hope you enjoy.


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